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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738345">paper faces on parade</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticaltorque/pseuds/mysticaltorque'>mysticaltorque</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Costume Parties &amp; Masquerades, Gen, Undercover</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:14:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738345</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticaltorque/pseuds/mysticaltorque</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(or, shortly after regeneration the newly rebranded Master crashes a party he'd been invited to before and starts down his new path)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Yellow Team</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>paper faces on parade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/gifts">LearnedFoot</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Halfway down the line of dancers, the Master had to admit that for a stodgy pre-Time War Gallifreyan gala, the party was really beginning to get started. One of Romana’s earlier faces was clearly drumming up her faction to properly stand behind her as a candidate for a confident and long-lasting Lord Presidency, and various other hopeful candidates as well as simply general rabble rousers were beginning to take notice and positions themselves to hinder her. It was delicate, sophisticated, and utterly hilarious for the Master, who just from reading their expressions could tell that everyone involved deep down in the most telepathically shielded part of their mind wanted to sort this power struggle out through the decidedly non-Gallifreyan and unsophisticated method of brawling in the dirt instead of having to discern meaning from tribute paid to various mythological figures from various times and worlds. On Gallifrey, cultural appreciation galas truly were the worst for anyone not a Master of disguise like him- currently disguised as the mediocre Time Lord the Bosun dressing up as Neptune, an ancient Earth god of war he’d rather enjoyed tales of when one of his earlier incarnations was posing as a reverend during the Doctor’s embarrassing UNIT phase, but had chosen to use Pluto for this particular appreciation night instead. The Master caught a glimpse of his earlier self, dancing with a blonde Time Lady dressed as the goddess Victoria and felt smug at how good a choice that particular costume choice had been- the goatee had really brought it all together and it was just outlandish enough everyone had assumed he was moping about the Doctor not showing up and left him out of the factional maneuvering out of pity. Looking at it now, the Master admits it was also likely that everyone avoided him as he and the Doctor were in one of their more disgusting spirals and no one had likely wanted to be around them when they started leaking gooey thoughts about destined rivalry or performed erotic swordfighting at the drop of a hat whenever they came across each other. He had, of course, socialised with the group of Gallifreyans and Time Lords that had also taken inspiration from Romano-Greek Terran mythology while being careful to never meet his past self due to the general lack of remembrance and the mild urge to not give the various political movers and shakers any reason to unite together and do something to end the mutual annoyance of the gala- such as a blatant paradox happening to a renowned eccentric in the middle of the dance floor, allowing them a good excuse for a very unwanted elimination. This face of the Master’s was barely out of regeneration fever, and after the rather embarrassing way that he’d regenerated while taking out another of his previous faces in the process (it was much harder now to laugh at the Doctor for the constant tangling of his personal timeline that happened now the Master had committed the same unfortunate blunder, although he was thankfully not yet up to five), he was looking to return and try and explain things to the Doctor, after he left him with no explanation and appear to betray him. The Master was not looking forward to that conversation, and had thus taken a fancy dress and timeline warping detour to procrastinate and take a turn down a dancing line the Doctor definitely wasn't in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The Master reached the end of the line, bowed to his partner, and headed in the direction of the multidimensional punch bowl just as Old Goatee released the blonde Victoria as he meandered over to needle Romana, meaning that he only had about nineteen minutes and twenty-three seconds before he would be kicked out for inappropriate behaviour, likely meaning the Master present would have to evacuate before then unobtrusively in a pilfered TARDIS to ensure he didn’t get trapped in those remedial etiquette lessons he’d managed to dodge as Goatee. A pale wrist reaches into his line of sight as the blonde Victoria ladles herself some punch with more gusto than anyone knew various factions had spiked it with enough varied and interesting compounds that anyone who’d take a sip would wake up feeling like they’d been trapped inside a confession dial and with a blurred memory. “The Arbiter,” she introduces herself as, “and you need to leave before Romana notices you’re here and tries to put you both on trial.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Any other suggestions, then?” the Master asked, amused despite himself at the relatively low title compared to her obvious competence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She considers a moment, light reflecting off her hairnet and making her roots rather obvious, before leaning in conspiratorially. “I’m just leaving myself, so this would have to be a solo operation for you” she said as her eyes seemed to, for just a moment, contain a great rage, “but have you ever considered hacking into the very beginning of the Matrix?”</span>
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